


We're Boats Against the Current, You and I

by Tinybookworm



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1920's AU, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F, its Sansaery meets gatsby, so here u go!!!, some lovely anon asked for a reincarnation fic, yh so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 09:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinybookworm/pseuds/Tinybookworm
Summary: Reincarnation!AU. Sansa Stark and family are invited to a house in East Egg known as 'Highgarden' to attend the Tyrell families tea party. 1920's Gatsby inspired bc we all know I love to write inspired by my favourite books. Speaking of, this can be read separately from my previous fic but I do use some lines from that book in this story.





	We're Boats Against the Current, You and I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I love u guys pls leave reviews and Kudos it means the world!!! I don't know if this is sad but I seem cowrite in that way so I'm sorry xx
> 
> Disclaimer: the "walked through the door of my own love story" is not my line, it is Jandy Nelson's but I love it and it was relevant.
> 
> I love my WIFE Margaery Tyrell and all she did, I love her girlfriend Sansa Stark for everything she does.

Sansa had heard of the Tyrell’s: now the wealthiest family in New York City. Robb drank and Jon smiled as their father read a newspaper article on how some ‘Loras’ took Wall Street by storm.   
“He sounds wonderful,” Sansa spoke in dreams and stared at the picture Ned was now showing her. Robb snorted his whiskey through his nose. Single Malt.   
“Dream on Sansa.”  
She knew a family in East Egg would probably have ties with the Lannisters; Lions who roared their salaries and dismissed wolves. Sansa rolled her eyes.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

—

East Egg was grand in all affairs. The Tyrell’s were hosting a luxurious afternoon tea and had invited the Starks. Sansa watched and she inwardly curled at how her family were being loud, boisterous: West Egg. She sipped her tea and nibbled on Lemon cakes as the garden was illuminated with roses and the reflection of light from the lake’s surface. Sansa closed her eyes and bathed in the sunlight and wished how she could freeze time; live here instead, just for a moment. The mid-tick in the clock, the stop in the pulse, the moment of doubt before a sale in stocks. She pictured herself as a painting: here, head bent upwards and nose towards the sky. The lady of Shalot. Her red hair flowing down her back and rooting her among the roses so nobody could move her from-  
The tea party. 

A few people were staring as she rode down from the clouds.   
“Excuse me,” she walked as she dreamed; royally shy and caressing rose petals.

—

Sansa felt small as she walked around the great halls of the East Egg house. ‘Highgarden’ she had heard some people call it. People who knew more than she about money and house names. So, there she strolled. The paintings on ‘Highgarden’s’ walls were impressive. She frequently saw pictures of two younger siblings: or so she presumed. Both brunette and stone but pretty. Sansa recognised Loras, his picture from the newspaper now stashed secretly under her bed so it would be easier to picture him next to her. Strangely, it was the woman who drew her in; the sister, the sculpture. The prettier one, Sansa thought and then shook her head. The portrait of the woman (‘Margaery’ or so the plaque read) seemed to read into her thoughts and smirked back to her. The hallway she was in was adorned with antiques and trinkets and flowers, of course, but this woman in the painting seemed to be all that mattered. Sansa continued to stare at the portrait of the siblings, stood straight yet interlinked, with their arm behind on another backs. Sansa pictured another portrait: Rhodedendron relations, the two pretty tyrell’s wrapped around each other like ivory stalks, trapping Sansa herself into her prison of flowers and attractiveness. The sunlight streamed through the stalks of her imaginary prison, enough to let her stare at the portrait for as long as propriety allowed.  
And then some.

—

The white doors, doubled and drawing, called for her. Sansa turned her head and something in her head that sounded a lot like Ayra told her to “live a little”. So she did, if opening white doors with golden handles constituted as “living”.  
It revealed more white, and Sansa sensed herself walking through the door of her own love story. The thin white curtains blew around to fill the empty space, the wind helping them find their strength and the small, royal room was filled with light. The sun, presence unwavering, smiled softly as she introduced Sansa to someone so beautiful she felt in a dream. East Egg was a dream, the wind blew a little harder, and sent the white curtains into a daze again. Sansa heard a giggling, like a small bell had been rung to signal for the maid; delicate and charming.  
“Brother mine,” The bell chimed, “is that you with my drink I asked for not two hours ago?”  
When the voice received no reply, Sansa watched as a hand draped over the sofa lazily, lovely, and up emerged one Margaery Tyrell. Sansa stared in shock as her pull to the woman was only stronger in reality. ‘Have we met before?’ She wanted to say, but all her mouth could form was “Um. Hello. Sorry, I think I’m lost,”  
But Margery rose, as tall as a sunflower, as elegantly as a tulip. Smiling, she came improperly close to Sansa and whispered,  
“Shhh sweet thing. You mustn’t let them find us,”  
Margaery grabbed her hand and pulled sharply. Sansa shrieked as she was pulled down the Rabbit hole and onto the sofa where Margaery had laid mere moments before. Margery giggled again and asked for her name in song. Or so it sounded like song to Sansa and she gave the Tyrell her name.   
“Stark?” Margaery and Sansa lay on the floor surrounded by sun as the Tyrell looked lost in thought.   
“I feel as though we have met before?”   
It was phrased like a question but neither women could remember ever meeting.   
“I like your tea party,”  
“It’s not mine. I don’t like tea,”  
“Your family’s then. You must come out, it is so gorgeous,”  
Margaery smiled and Sansa felt warm and safe. “Hush dear Sansa, a little while longer, I like laying here with you: like this,”

The sparrows chirped from outside and Sansa saw the green light. She saw Margaery engulfed by the green and Sansa saw the crown perched up her head collapse around her.   
A strange vision. A dream. Margaery was opposite her now so no matter. Margaery took her hand so no matter. Sansa painted herself replacing Loras wrapped around her sister; except in this painting they were lovers, not siblings. Margery smiled at her like she was a lemon cake so no matter. The white was still blowing around them and the breeze from the trees gave the women life. Sansa looked across at Margaery, dressed in sunlight and beauty and thought this felt all too familiar.

—

Margaery took Sansa out back and fed her to the flowers and the Stark became drugged up on the roses. Margaery plucked a rose from her own secret garden, red. She gave it to Sansa and Sansa fell in love. The chatter from the party a few hedges down was unwavering. The lake behind them splashed happily. Sansa fell into a dream, she and Margaery in a different garden, hot and fresh in a stifling sunlight. Dream Margaery gave Sansa a rose. Her hair was tied back and she looked beautiful.   
“I’ve met you before,” Sansa blurted.   
Margaery raised an eyebrow, Sansa prepared herself for the cut of her words, her flower girl forgotten. Ayra was right, Sansa was so weird-  
“I believe you’re right,” Margaery admitted. They sat next to an old tree, the leaves had started to turn red early and Sansa admired the way they would paint the sky red if one looked through them. She thought how Bran would love to climb such a marvellous tree.  
A sparrow perched next to Margaery and begged for her attention. It chirped loudly. Sansa heard Margaery scream but she thinks it was just in her head.  
“I don’t like the Sparrows,” The Tyrell admitted. “They’re really quite infuriating,”  
“I see the green light,” Sansa offered. She didn’t know what it meant or what Margaery could do with that information.  
“So do I,” the brunette looked burdened. And as beautiful as she was, Sansa noticed how the weight of the world would not look pretty on her fragile shoulders. “It frightens me,”   
“Me too, I feel sad,”   
“I feel empty- like there was something in another life that I forgot to do,”

(Sansa took her hand and their touch took them back years, together they ran across meadows and they abandon the years they have been apart. King’s landing was shown to them and their previous life together was presented in cinemascope. They both felt indescribably mournful.)

Margaery shrugged the world off her shoulders as if it were simply a pest. Sansa thought of how New York might look if she had Margaery all to herself. Nice, she muses, home. The Tyrell shifted closer to her, the old tree looked upon them like a grandparent and Sansa felt protected and as if time no longer existed as a concept. As if the front door was left open and revealed the same street for miles and miles. As if the sun was theirs and always had been; she thinks these thoughts as the sunlight drips on them through the trees leaves like a leaky tap. Margery looks at Sansa and she touches her forehead to the Stark. This is the most intimate Sansa has been in a long time and it feels fresh and it feels like love. They’ve only just met but not really. Sansa sees brown as she looks up at Margaery: her hair, her eyes, the oak wood that protects them. She hears the tea party faintly and she does not hear the sparrows- she hears nothing when Margaery kisses her softly in the late afternoon. Sansa allows herself to touch Margaery’s face, her hips, her waist. Her lips are soft and she sees them as a portrait: card-players at a picnic, revealing their hands at the same time. Sansa enjoys it and the green light is forgotten as Margaery comes back and touches their noses playfully.   
“Perhaps that was the thing I forgot to do,”

Sansa smiles as she blooms.


End file.
